


Love, Not in the Fraternal Sense

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Incest, M/M, Stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk falls in love with his older brother, despite knowing how wrong it is. Not to mention how utterly hopeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Not in the Fraternal Sense

Since a young age, Dirk's admiration of his brother had felt more like childish hero worship than familial affection, no doubt thanks to learning more about Dave from interviews and tabloids than from actually knowing him. Once he hit his teenage years, it had been tinged with envy, knowing so much about Dave's movie director lifestyle and being so little involved with it, whatever good reasons for that his brother might have. Those feelings wouldn't have been too problematic though, no they were perfectly predictable and reasonable. It would have stayed all well within the realm of normal if something about that jealousy hadn't twisted in a decided unfraternal sort of way. Something grew on Dirk as he went through high school, like a fungus on a rotting carcass, warm and life-sucking and decidedly unwelcome. But for a long time he could ignore it.

Years passed. Dirk had crushes, even a boyfriend, briefly. Some dweeb named Jake who kissed horribly but had the most alluring smile lasted for two months. Dirk entertained his teenage lust with pornography, images of muscular men from cologne ads, fantasies about classmates, all the usual things. When an all-too-familiar figure occasionally wandered into his thoughts during these times, he was able to ignore it. When he read through interviews with Dave and came across picture, his brother posing poker faced with his shades amongst his laughing cast of stars, Dirk ignored the resulting boner. Or, more often, closed the tab and went back to porn.

Even that wasn't horrible. Just finding Dave hot – well, objectively, Dave was hot. And Dirk didn't exactly grow up raised by him, not in anything but the loosest sense. There was no risk of reproduction, so the only biologically sound reason against incest was irrelevant. Obviously Dave wasn't taking advantage of him – Dave didn't know, and would be disgusted if he found out – so there wasn't the issue of power. No, if it was purely a matter of thinking his brother was attractive, Dirk would've been able to survive.

But it wasn't just that. Dirk loved him. Not in the familial sort of way, even if he'd really known how the familial way should have felt. He wanted Dave to hold him as they fell asleep, to bring him as his date to all his hot-shot movie star parties, to sloppily make out in public, to see to see Dave without his shades, to just be with Dave. He was, in the sappiest sense, madly in love with Dave.

In romantic love with a brother who probably didn't even love him as family.

Dave hadn't been this bad when Dirk was younger. Sure, he still wasn't around much, but when he was, he was engaged, hilarious, showering Dirk with affection and attention. Listening to him. Early on enough, Dave had barely been an adult himself, and so his lack of participation in Dirk's life had more to do with lack of maturity rather than lack of interest.

But that was years ago. And this was now.

This was the first time Dirk couldn't somehow justify it, or shove it from his mind, or pretend it wasn't that bad. He was coming to his senses now, cum on his boxers, hand wrapped around his softening dick, and a picture of Dave in a bathing suit on his screen. And during this refractory, emotionally vulnerable period, all of Dirk's heart was yearning to crawl into Dave's bed and cuddle up with him. Not that Dave was actually in town right now.

When Dirk snapped out of his thoughts, he was hit with a wave of nausea. He was fucking disgusting, to be in love with not only the most unattainable person in his life, but the only one who was biologically related to him. In love with his own brother.

He raced to the bathroom and sunk onto his knees in front of the toilet bowl, raising his hand and leaning over. He had one finger resting on his tongue, ready to thrust it back further and make himself puke, but he couldn't finish it. Whatever happened, he couldn't escape that cold, logical voice in his head telling him to calm down. Reminding him that no matter how fucked up he was, making himself vomit wasn't going to make it go away. That he couldn't use physical pain or disgust to escape from the blunt, forceful emotional impact of recognizing what he'd done. Recognizing what he wanted.

Dirk hoped it wouldn't happen again. But it did.

Dave's visits became more awkward, though neither of them would acknowledge it. They talked less. Dave made an effort, but Dirk found himself with little to say. Eloquence was rarely a problem for him, but when Dave asked him about his schoolwork, his friends, his hobbies, all Dirk could do was judge what he wanted to say before it came out of his mouth. His schoolwork was meaningless; Dave didn't get famous thanks to good grades. His friends were nowhere near as cool as Dave's. His hobbies were way more dorky than Dave would appreciate. He wasn't good enough for Dave, in any way. So Dirk kept his distance.

When his college acceptance letters arrived in the mail, the only thing he could think of when he opened each was what Dave had said about them. Dave said he'd pay for any of them, but all Dirk cared about was which would make Dave the least disappointed in him.

In April, when Dirk had his final spring break of high school, Dave came home again. Said he was staying for a whole week, longer than he had in the past year.

“I know being an angsty teen is fun, but can't you at least show your hardworking bro a little love?” On the third day back, Dave had apparently found Dirk's terseness amusing enough to comment on. He leaned against the door frame of Dirk's bedroom.

“I'm busy,” Dirk replied, not looking away from his computer. He wasn't, and it was a lame response, but he didn't want to engage with Dave.

“Dude, all you've done is sit on your ass since I got home. Do you want to get out and go somewhere? We could go to Olive Garden ironically.”

“I don't feel like going out.”

“What about takeout?”

“Yeah, fine.”

It was too easy, and too short, and Dirk found himself resenting Dave for not prodding him more. Even though it was his own damn fault they didn't banter much – even talk much – any more.

As they ate, Dave went on about his recent movie project. Dirk listened, half-listening, half-mentally berating himself for noticing how adeptly Dave's fingers manipulated the chopsticks. How long and slender those fingers were. How perfect they'd be wrapped around Dirk's cock.

“So what's on your mind?”

Dave's question jolted Dirk back to reality. Dave clearly knew something was up, so Dirk couldn't say “nothing.” That would get him more questions, not fewer.

“Just a guy from school.” The lie was easy, and perfect. Close enough to the truth to sound realistic, far enough from the truth to ensure no possibility of discovery. “Not that my romantic life is relevant to you.”

“Cool it; I'm not trying to be nosy. I just don't get to catch up with you often. You know I don't see you enough.”

“Bullshit.” Dirk dropped his container of lo mein onto the coffee table, appetite abruptly diminished.

How patronizing for Dave to be acting like he wanted to spend more time with Dirk. Complete and utter patronizing nonsense. Dave's schedule was damn busy, sure, but he found plenty of time for partying, for flying all over the world, for taking on countless side projects. Dave loved the limelight more than he loved his brother.

Not that Dirk could blame him, not with any iota of reason. Who wouldn't love fame and fortune more than one's mediocre little sibling? But Dirk held it against him anyway.

“Whoa, chill out. If you want me to be around more, just say so, kid.”

“Have you been gone so long you forgot how old I am? I'm 18; that hardly qualifies as a fuckin' kid.”

“Yeah, I know.” If Dave looked anything, it wasn't apologetic really, just a touch concerned. Dirk was clearly making an idiot of himself. Again.

All Dirk wanted to say was that it was fine, that he knew Dave was just being a dick. He shouldn't be so fucking prickly; it made him look uptight, in unflattering contrast to his brother's never-faltering facade of cool. He watched Dave, now diving back into his dinner. Longing and self-loathing struck Dirk together, and he got to his feet.

“Put your leftovers in the fridge, dude.”

“Nah, I don't want them.”

The next few days were uneventful. On the last night, Dave talked Dirk into going out to a fancy restaurant, even going so far as to insist they both got dressed up. Dave wore one of his infamously garish suits, this one candy apple red. On the way there, Dirk thought he might even be able to relax a bit, just enjoy his brother's company. As soon as they were seated, he realized he was dead wrong.

Over the course of the evening, Dave didn't just order a number of fancy dishes, as was expected, but several thousand dollars' worth of top-shelf liquor. Dave got drunk off his ass.

Dirk knew his brother had a reputation for heavy drinking, but hadn't actually seen it in action before. Apparently Dave was so fucking bored of Dirk that he couldn't be bothered to spend another day sober. It was their last night together before Dave had to go back to his hectic life of a movie director, and Dave got wasted.

Dirk drove them home, listening to Dave ramble about things Dirk had never wanted to know. All the stupid parties Dave had gone to. All the living legends he'd met. All the dumb shit people had tried to license SbaHJ for. All the people – chicks and dudes alike - that Dave had hooked up with.

“A lot of them were just star fuckers, but I didn't give a shit. It's not like I'm real relationship material anyway,” Dave added as they neared home, his words slurring as he watched the city skyline outside their speeding car.

Well, that made two of them, though for vastly different reasons. Dirk said nothing.

When they arrived home, Dirk watched Dave carefully, praying his brother didn't fall over or puke before they even got in the door to the apartment.

They made it in fine, Dave being nothing more than loud and obnoxious, apparently not currently a danger to himself or to the integrity of the carpet. Still, Dirk followed him into his bedroom, wanting to make sure he actually went to bed alright.

“What's actually bothering you, kid?” Dave asked as he stood in the middle of the room and casually started to undress.

“I told you not to call me kid.” Dirk picked up the suit jacket that Dave had carelessly tossed to the floor, then went to the closet to look for a hanger. He was going to pointedly ignore what Dave was doing, get the suit safely hung up, then go the fuck to sleep.

“It's important, 'cause you are though,” Dave continued. “Compared to me. I'm so damn old by now. You're just a kid. My kid.”

“Your brother.” Dirk picked up the discarded pants as well, shaking wrinkles and crumbs from them, biting back any number of angrier responses. He was so not in the mood for more bullshit about how young and stupid he was. Not when he was picking up his brother's ten thousand dollar suit from the floor and doing his damn best to neither storm off nor shove Dave onto the bed and snog him into silence.

“I know you're my brother. That's why, that's why I care about what's bugging you.”

Dirk noticed the repetition but chalked it up to nothing more than drunken incoherence.

“It's not something you can do shit about, so drop it.”

“But I want to know. I care about you. Bro.” Dave was tangling himself up in the blanket, slender limbs disappearing into a mess of cloth. He was apparently no longer wearing anything, judging by all that lay on the floor.

Dirk needed to get going. Definitely.

“Try me,” Dave continued, managing to mostly cover himself in the sheets.

“You're so plastered that when you've dried up, you won't even remember we had this conversation.”

“Maybe. But isn't that all the more reason you should just tell me. It's not like I can judge you when I'm in this state.” He paused. “I'm such a mess, right now, aren't I?”

“I'm gonna have to go with yup.”

Dave laughed. “And you don't know the half of it.”

Really, Dirk knew he should be leaving. Dave's suit was hung up, and his brother was safely in bed. The chances that he would choke and die on his own vomit were next to nothing now. Yet Dirk couldn't bring himself to actually move his legs.

“Come here,” Dave said, gesturing. He was still wearing his shades. Of course.

“Do you want a glass of water or something?” Dirk went to the edge of the bed, near the nightstand, and looked down at Dave. His brother appeared decidedly less composed than usual, but as handsome as ever, flawless skin and soft, perfectly messy blond hair.

“I just want you to tell me.”

Sure, Dave was drunk and being less oblique, but somehow Dirk knew it wasn't just that. There was something more urgent in Dave's voice now. Something Dirk hadn't heard before. 

Dirk was tempted to tell him. His heart tore as he knew the sheer idiocy of the even letting that thought enter his mind. But what the hell did he have to lose?

There was still plenty to lose. Dirk wasn't even legally underage any more; there was nothing to keep Dave from yanking all support – financial and otherwise – and leaving him to fend for himself. Not to mention Dave never speaking to him again. His brother truly becoming nothing more than a hero on a pedestal, a name under a movie title, a picture on a screen.

“No,” Dirk replied quietly.

“Why?” Dave sat up, leaning back against the headboard. “What're you so scared of?”

“I'm not scared. Just go to sleep, bro.”

There was a moment when Dirk just stopped there, but there was an opportunity here, plain and perfect. This might be his only chance to say what he wanted to Dave, with his brother currently too drunk to really understand it, to process the other connotations. To take it only in the way Dirk should mean it, without guessing at how Dirk did mean it.

"I love you.”

“Is that it?” Dave sat up a little straighter, a peculiarly concerned look haunting him now.

“Yeah, that's all,” Dirk said, slightly nervous, because this wasn't what he'd expected. “You need to fuckin' sleep this off -”

But Dave was leaning in, grabbing the collar of Dirk's shirt and yanking him close. Dirk's insides evaporated. He felt nothing but anticipation. Desperation. Fear. Want.

“Dirk. Say that again.”

“I love you,” he repeated.

There was no hesitation in the response.

“I love you too.”

As soon as the words left Dave's lips, Dirk's own mouth was there, swallowing them up. His body burned with need, with hope, with everything he'd been bottling up for years. And Dave was kissing him.

Dave's mouth was as eager as his own, parting his lips, letting Dirk slip his tongue into his brother's mouth. It was warm and intoxicating and, no, literally, Dave tasted of whiskey and rum and the hint of grenadine from whatever fruityass cocktails he'd had, and Dirk realized what the fuck was going on. Dirk flipped the fuck out.

Silently.

He broke away, tearing Dave's hands from his shirt.

“Go to sleep.”

He fled.

Not only had he just told his brother that he loved him – for the first time in six years, and the first time he'd ever meant it like this - but he'd actually almost tried to take advantage of his brother while drunk. No, he hadn't actually done anything, but fuck, he'd wanted to. And he had kissed Dave.

But Dave had let him kiss him. Dave had pulled him in. Dave had wanted to kiss him.

Even as royally fucked up as Dave was, that wasn't simply something that just happened by accident. One didn't just kiss one's brother, miles away from sober or not.

Except that this being anything but a freak accident was impossible. Dave would wake up in the morning and not remember. Hopefully. That was immeasurably better than Dave remembering, booking it out of the apartment, and never speaking to Dirk face-to-face again.

The night was long and sleepless. Trains of logic and self-hatred chugging along a circular track, round-and-round, never going anywhere new.

It was past 4 a.m. when Dirk heard stirring from the other room.

Steps to the bathroom. Door slamming. Vomiting. Pause. More vomiting.

Dirk listened. It was unlikely that Dave would pass out in the bathroom or some shit, but Dirk worried. He'd never witnessed anyone get drunk before, but especially not his brother, especially not when there was no one else, especially not at home. If Dave even considered this place home.

When the silence had lingered for two minutes, Dirk got to his feet and headed to the bathroom. His heart pounded, but a small part of him pointed out that if he saw Dave in a total state of disarray, maybe it'd help shatter his image of his brother and love interest, turn him into something more human, more flawed. Less appealing.

Dirk knocked on the door.

“What?”

So Dave wasn't passed out at least. That was a good start.

“You OK?”

Pause. Toilet flush. Lid slamming down.

“Just fucking peachy. I have never felt better in all my thirty-six years of life.”

“Look on the bright side. At least you're not puking in your bed.”

“Not any more.”

Dirk couldn't tell if he was joking. He leaned against the door, staring at the handle.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked suddenly not sure which answer he dreaded more.

“I don't know.”

“That's one classy way to shift the responsibility of talking about it.”

“Are you just going to stand there having a conversation with the door? You can come in, as long as you realize I look like complete shit.”

It was more deflection, but Dirk didn't call him on it. He just went in.

Dave was pulling himself to his feet, spitting in the sink. He didn't look like complete shit, and at least he'd managed to put his boxers back on. Dirk watched in silence as Dave turned on the faucet and leaned in, splashing his face with water. He looked tired, and older than Dirk had ever seen him before – his face was starting to show the very beginnings of age, subtly, in the lines and shadows. Still, the sight of him like this didn't make Dirk's heart pound any less.

“What do you remember?” Dirk asked.

Dave grabbed his toothbrush and slowly squirted toothpaste onto it.

“I remember you took the car keys from me.”

“Obviously. I'm surprised I'd never had to do that before, what with how much you're known to be a party animal in your wild Hollywood life.”

“I try not to bring that shit home.”

Dave was looking at the mirror. It took Dirk a second to overcome his initial pang of anger – that Dave was so conceited he was worrying about his appearance in a time like this – and realize that instead Dave might be uncomfortable enough that he didn't want to look at Dirk.

“Yeah, you don't like to bring any of the fun stuff home,” Dirk went on, trying to read Dave's face. “I'm a responsibility. Don't mix work and pleasure. Except in this case, family is the work.”

Dave said nothing to that for a long while, not until he had scrubbed every inch of his mouth at least twice. Dirk watched, resentful and regretting what he'd said, as much as he meant it. Dave clearly felt like shit and probably only felt guilty for letting Dirk see him like this. After all, if Dave didn't remember, everything would be fine – or as fine as it had ever been, which was barely – but instead Dirk was letting his pent-up frustration at this get the better of him and was trying to start an argument.

When he finally spit and rinsed his mouth out again, all Dave had to say was, “Thanks for driving me home.”

He put his toothbrush away, but made no move to leave. Dirk cautiously took a step back to get out of his way. Dave didn't budge.

“Are you going back to bed?” Dirk asked.

“Going to crash on the futon, actually.” Dave didn't meet Dirk's eyes, a hint of blush on his cheeks.

“So you actually did throw up in your bed.”

“What can I say, I party like I mean it. I'll clean it up before I leave for the airport.”

“Actually, I'm more worried that my usually 100% composed brother is apparently enough of an alcoholic that he can't spend a week away from his self-destructive habits.”

Dave's face darkened. “Just go the fuck back to bed, ok?”

Dirk didn't need to be told twice. How fucking stupid was he to goad Dave? He was on his way out when he heard Dave again.

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever, it's fine.” Dirk stood in the hall, not looking back. “I know your drinking habits aren't my business and I shouldn't be giving you a hard time about them.”

“No, not just sorry for that. For being an asshole and everything.” Dave sounded exhausted. “Shit, Dirk, I'm sorry.”

Slowly, Dirk turned back to look at Dave. He really had to know now.

“What do you remember?”

“I'm sorry.”

Dirk stepped closer, back onto the tile floor. His brain screamed that he shouldn't be doing this, that there was nothing that could be gained. But his heart was breaking a little bit to see Dave vulnerable, like this, to see Dave actually apologetic. Something had gotten to Dave. Something serious.

Inhaling deeply, steadying himself, Dirk replied.

“So you remember.”

“Dirk, I'm sorry, I was drunk out of my mind, I -”

That was enough. That was all he wanted to know.

Dirk kissed him again.

But Dave didn't move into him this time. Dave froze.

In half a second, Dirk released him, panic hitting him like a tsunami, and he flash-stepped away, rushing to his room. What the actual fuck had he thought that might be a good idea for, why the fuck was he so hopelessly stupid – why did he think for even a moment that Dave might reciprocate his feelings. Dirk had just ruined any chance they had of reconciliation, of them being able to move on.

“Dirk!”

Dave was right behind him and managed to stick a hand through the door before Dirk tried to shut it. There was a cry of pain, and Dirk just fucking ran for his bed like the child he felt like, lost and distraught and making a mess of every goddamn thing including the only person he'd ever loved in any and every sense.

“Dirk, no, holy shit.” Dave was cradling his smashed hand as Dirk curled up in the sheets. “I thought – what the fuck just happened?”

“Just shut the fuck up and leave already, if that's what you're going to do. I'm sorry - I can't fucking take this any more.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Dave sunk on the edge of the bed and Dirk scooted away, trying to make himself as scarce as possible.

“Fuck.” Dave's voice wavered. “No, Dirk, this isn't your fault, I'm so so sorry.” Dave ripped off his shades and dropped them in his lap, sinking his head into his hands. “God, I'm the world's shittiest guardian. I shouldn't have let – I just shouldn't have fucking drank -”

“I don't give a shit about the drinking! I was worried about you.” Dirk was not going to fucking cry, but it was harder to talk than he'd like as his throat felt constricted. “Though right now I'm most worried about the fact that you'll never be able to fucking look me in the eye again.”

Dave looked at Dirk. Without shades. Directly.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I fucked you up so much that you somehow got it into your head last night that what happened, that you had to do that, like it was the only way you'd get attention, or whatever -”

“You dumb fuck; I wasn't doing it because I thought it would get me attention. I was being a selfish little shit and doing it in spite of what you wanted.” Dirk flung his own shades at the wall. They cracked. He had other pairs. He didn't have another chance at this.

“Dirk?” There was no anger in his voice. No disappointment. No joking around.

“What?” Dirk looked warily at Dave, inching closer. When the answer didn't come right away, Dirk forced himself to sit up, looking into his brother's dark eyes with surprisingly little fear.

“I love you.”

Dirk placed a hand on Dave's cheek, coaxing him closer. Dave followed effortlessly, pale lashes on his eyes fluttering shut in plain expectation. Dirk kissed him.

Dave melted into him, the taste of alcohol and mint haunting his mouth, but right now there was absolutely nothing about Dave that Dirk wasn't going to cherish. He enveloped Dave's lips with his own, pressing his bare chest against Dave's, warm skin against warm skin. When he broke the kiss, it was only to whisper.

“I love you too.”

~~It was wrong. So fucking wrong.~~

He had been so wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt.


End file.
